A Poor Thing Indeed
by Lady Feylene
Summary: Years after the war, Remus Lupin runs into an old student and find his life suddenly changed.


  
  
  
  


Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, they belong to JK Rowling. I am making no money off of this.

  
  


Warning: Some sexual situations.

  
  


Pairing: Remus/Hermione

  
  


Dedication: To the Rare Pairs Mailing list.

  
  


Summary: This was written for the Rare Pairing FQF fest.

  
  
  
  


A Poor Thing Indeed

  
  


Ah, the life of a merry wanderer! The open road, the wind at your back...

  
  


It's really not all it's cracked up to be, believe me. I've lived that life for longer then I can remember, with only a handful of interludes between. I've called myself many things, and been called many more. (and trust me, War hero isn't high on that list.) But I have never made any attempt to settle down. I...I don't think I could.

  
  


Oh, I've been hit with the desires every so often. Some handsome young thing gives me the eye, and there's a slight stirring and the sudden urge to put down roots. But it passes, it always does. I enjoy the physical pleasures of both man and maid, but any true impulse to find a life partner and start a family just isn't for me.

  
  


I believe it has quite a bit to do with the social stigmatism I face *nearly* every day. And of course, my parents always tried to steer me against ever settling down, too frightened that I'd pass on my 'defect' to any children I may father. Of course that is quite a real fear for me. But my parents started in on me very early, so it's easy for me to blame them for my lack of commitment abilities. But then of course, I've never been in a position to commit.

  
  


My lycanthropy is of course to blame for that. It's very hard to find anyone willing to accept me, once they find out the truth. Oh, not as far as mere acquaintances go. It's fine to be friends with a werewolf. But bed down with one?

  
  


I have found, however, that women are much more accepting then men when it comes to that. They all start out the same. Very tender and sympathetic, with large eyes and fluttering lashes and trembling lips. Usually, somewhere along the line, the words 'oh, you poor thing!' are uttered. Not exactly what I'd like to hear. And then, after the first full moon, it's all over. But I've come to expect this.

  
  


I'm actually surprised, currently, that my weary feet have brought me back to merry old England. I haven't been here since the second downfall of Voldemort, purely by choice. Sirius is kicking around somewhere, we oftentimes write. Harry is doing well, graduated and playing Quidditch professionally. For the Tornadoes, a well known and well respected team. I managed to catch one of his games, and he has only improved with time.

  
  


But the British Isles have held little appeal to me, of late. After the war, I needed to get away. I needed to find myself, so to speak. Sirius always claimed I was too old to start this sort of thing, but I say balderdash to that. A man is only as old as he feels, and I choose to feel like a lad of twenty. Or perhaps twenty five, I suppose I should be realistic.

  
  


But here I am again. Diagon Alley, summer playground of my misguided youth. I can remember running these streets as a boy, laughing and carefree. A part of me longs for those days, with my old chums. I miss them all-even Sirius, with whom I still speak but is so changed from the boy I knew. I miss what he was, what we are were.

  
  


But those days are long past, and I need to keep my mind on the present. Which isn't all that hard. Diagon Alley has changed little. New faces in the crowds, a few new small shops here and there, but all in all the same old street.

  
  


I window shop, I rarely buy. I have no home, no permanent resting place for my possessions. Oh, there is my parent's home in Wales, where my mother still resides, but I'm so little there that it would be pointless. I've never felt the need to clutter my life with physical objects. What's the point? In the end, they really won't matter.

  
  


I pause outside of the apothecary, well aware that back among civilized life I'm going to have to take precautions against my disease. It's standing here, brow furrowed and lips pursed in thought, that a vaguely familiar voice and address calls me out of my reverie.

  
  


"Professor Lupin?"

  
  


I haven't been called professor in nearly seven years. I turn, head tilted quizzically. And then my face breaks into a warm smile, and all thoughts of confusion leave me.

  
  


"Hermione Granger! How are you?" I haven't seen her in at least two or three years. She has changed little, still attentive and subdued. 

  
  


"Very well, thank you. I wasn't quite sure it was you, it's been a very long time, hasn't it?"

  
  


"Yes." I nod. She must be what, now, in her early twenties? She's certainly come a long way from the rather snappish, bookish thirteen year old I was first presented with. "A few years, at least. I've been off." I wave my hand vaguely.

  
  


"Oh? Where, if you don't mind me asking?"

  
  


"Here and there." I say with a small smile. "Spain, Greece, Rome, France..."

  
  


"Oh my! You have gotten around, haven't you?"

  
  


"Yes, you could say that."

  
  


"I don't imagine you're vacationing? Oh, but we shouldn't stand here on the sidewalk, talking like this. Would you like to perhaps have a cup of tea, or something to eat? I was just finishing up some errands."

  
  


"That would be lovely." It will be rather nice, I surmise, to sit and get reacquainted. And of course to catch up on my old students. There's a little café, tucked away in a small corner of the alley. It's out of the way, and it is a good place to talk.

  
  


"And no, I wasn't vacationing. I've just been seeing what I can. I don't have any ties, and I try not to make any."

  
  


"You must lead an interesting life." Her brown eyes are quite curious.

  
  


"I suppose. I've seen quite a few interesting things. But I've yet to leave Europe. Not that I have much desire to. I'm not a fan of foreign countries."

  
  


"Er...but aren't Greece and Rome and all of those places foreign?"

  
  


"Oh, I meant foreign as in another continent. Er...India, or China or something like that."

  
  


"Oh! Oh, you should really go to India if you ever get a chance. I spent three months there, studying, and it was just amazing!"

  
  


"Really?" Now that was interesting. I'd no idea, really, what she had done after graduating. I knew she and Ron were engaged, but as for any plans...

  
  


"Yes! It was the greatest thing I ever did, really. I studied herbology and medimagics with Abjaja Bhagba, a brilliant wizard."

  
  


"Is that what you're planning on doing? I know you had plenty of options to choose from."

  
  


"Oh yes!" She smiles, looking very pleased with herself. "I finally settled my mind. It was very hard though but...I just felt it was right."

  
  


"I know the feeling." My own life, of travels and trials, was one of my choosing. "And how is Ron? Are you two married yet?"

  
  


Her faces falls a bit at this, and I supposed I should have done the bright thing and simply looked for a ring. Looking at her fingers now, I notice they are devoid of adornment.

  
  


"Things...things didn't work out as we planned. But it's all right, we're still friendly. He's training to be an auror, actually."

  
  


"Good for him." I've always thought him a bit quick tempered, but he did have talent. A pity that the two of them never made it work, they made quite a splendid couple.

  
  


"Yes. And, well, I'm happy. I really am."

  
  


"That's really all that matters."

  
  


"What about you? What are you doing, other then seeing exotic places?"

  
  


"Nothing, really." I give a small laugh, picking up my napkin. I begin folding it and twisting it between my fingers. Not a nervous habit-I am not a nervous person-I simply like to keep my hands occupied.

  
  


"You've just...you've just been traveling? For the sake of traveling? That's...well, forgive me for saying so but that's simply beautiful!"

  
  


It's a queer choice of words, and one that rather strikes my fancy.

  
  


"I like your way of putting it." I give her a smile, and she blushes a bit. A slow, rose-blossom flush that creeps across her cheeks. "I just can't seem to settle down."

  
  


"Oh, that's all right. Is it...I suppose it must be easier for you. All things considered."

  
  


That lovely little flush stays, though for different reasons.

  
  


"Yes, my lycanthropy does make it a it difficult to find a permanent home. But I really don't mind. I do odd jobs when it suits me, and move on when it doesn't. I don't find the need to fill my life with tangible clutter. I own really what I need, and that's all."

  
  


"It sounds rather romantic."

  
  


"In a way." Oh yes, romance. Cold rain, strong winds, mud, pneumonia...but no. There were, undeniably, romantic aspects to my life. And they would most likely be magnified to a young woman, who had already had her taste of exotica. 

  
  


"Er...have you a place to stay?"

  
  


"Here?" I shake my head. "No, not yet. I doubt I'll be here long. Too much notoriety, you understand."

  
  


"I can offer you my couch...if you'd like it, professor..."

  
  


There's a certain soft change in the cadence to her voice, a subtle change in her stance. Were I a younger man, I'd be tempted to say she was flirting with me!

  
  


"I couldn't put you out in that manner Hermione. And please. I stopped being your professor long ago. My name is Remus."

  
  


"Remus." She just repeats it, that alluring pink staining her cheeks yet again. "And really, it's no trouble at all!"

  
  


"It would hardly be proper." I try a soft, concerned smile. It really wouldn't. A young, single woman allowing a man (beast) in his mid-forties to stay at her flat? She would be subject to the cruel quills of the Dailey Prophet. I would hardly be happy with that. And of course, I would like to keep myself out of the spotlight as much as possible.

  
  


"Oh!" She pishes it away, as if I'd suggested something hardly worth commenting on. "Really! In this day and age, I hardly think that's an issue."

  
  


"Call me old fashioned though. Or just old." I'm not certain if I'm trying to put her off, or if I'm simply being cruelly honest with myself.

  
  


"You're not old. Not really."

  
  


"No." For a wizard and a wolf, I am in my prime. A rather sad one at that.

  
  


"Come along then." She rises, brisk and businesslike. She's always been the sort to take charge. Which leads me to believe it was she who broke off her engagement. I can hardly see Ron giving up on her quickly or quietly. She is quite fetching, in an earthy and grounded manner. And she is quick of wit and tongue.

  
  


She lives here, in Diagon alley. It's a very small, cramped flat. Two rooms, and filled with all of those things I refuse to be a slave to. Reminders, memories, all cast in wood and iron and steel and paper. Why bother? It's a nice little place, though. 

  
  


"Er...here's the couch." She has to pull off quite a few old blankets and books to uncover it. Books seem to hold hierarchy here. "I'm sorry it's not much, but I'm really still living off of my parents...just until I find a steady job of course."

  
  


"Of course." I find it hard to imagine her relying on anyone for anything. 

  
  


"I'm sorry it's not much..."

  
  


"Never apologize for what you have to offer. This is a far better bed then I've found myself in many a times. I only regret I won't be sleeping here longer then a night."

  
  


Another flush. I fear those may be the end of me. I admit I am a man of few weaknesses, but the fairer sex happens to be one. And it simply isn't done, to be standing here entertaining thoughts of a former student. I really do wish she would stop blushing in such an appealing fashion.

  
  


"You're welcome to stay..."

  
  


"I don't doubt I am. And I thank you. But I'd rather be on my way, through no fault of yours."

  
  


We spend the next few hours or so in idle chit chat. We speak of literature, and the past, and mutual acquaintances. Severus is still teaching, Ron's elder brothers are all doing well, Parvati Patil is working at the ministry. Seamus Finnigan has plans to open his own tavern. It's rather nice to know what's been going on in their lives.

  
  


And then the hour grows late, she agrees it's time to retire. She excuses herself, and I take the time to change into my own faded nightclothes. She returns, robe wrapped about her slim figure.

  
  


"Did you need to use the loo at all?"

  
  


"No, thank you."

  
  


I fear I have found myself growing more and more fond of her. She is lovely. The tone of her voice, the soft curve of her hand as she brushes her hair away. And I am certain she has been flirting with me. I have already told her I will be leaving in the morning. And so I am faced with a quandary. Do I give in, to my baser instincts, or do I play the role of gallant? I am torn.

  
  


"Hermione..."

  
  


"Yes?" Apprehensive. I suddenly believe she is not as innocent as I have always believed her to be.

  
  


"Please, forgive me if I may be wrong, but I have been getting the impression..." I am not sure how to proceed. I've never been very smooth with women. I trip over my words, and I can never muster the proper ones. And I am there again.

  
  


"What impression?" Wide eyes, like a doe caught in a rifleman's scopes.

  
  


"I'm not very good at these things, you see, and you're an attractive woman, but..." I pause. If I'm wrong, I would hate to embarrass her. And it isn't an opportunity I will *truly* regret. "Never mind."

  
  


"No...because...Remus...if you think that I've been, well, flirting with you..." She lowers eyes. "I...I think I have."

  
  


"Oh?" Well. That answers my question.

  
  


"I'm terribly sorry!"

  
  


"No no!" She has done nothing to upset me. But now what I do I do?

  
  


"I'm sorry. It was rather stupid of me wasn't it?"

  
  


"No." I shake my head, and I cross the room to stand before her. "You have nothing to apologize for. I'm flattered."

  
  


"I suppose...I had a small bit of a crush on you, back in school. It was a small downfall of mine."

  
  


"Me?"

  
  


"Professors." That blush. That beautiful, sensual blush. She has a soft spot for professors, does she? I'm not surprised, considering her nature and her mind.

  
  


"I see. Well, I hate to remind you, but I'm not your professor anymore." I suppose that was smooth. Smoother then my normal lines, at any rate.

  
  


"But I still have a bit of a crush, I believe."

  
  


"I see." I take a small risk, and I put my hands on her waist. She glances down at my hands, and I am suddenly very nervous. I always am, now. That tense moment, where neither party is exactly sure what the other wants. And now I oftentimes face disaster. I will say something horribly wrong and without thinking, and she'll become offended. It always happens this way. But I'm beginning to become more and more interested in an encounter, sick as it may sound. And the idea that she has found me attractive since all those years ago...

  
  


I was hardly a sight to see back then. Underfed, tired, and drained. I imagine I must look quite fetching to her now, if even then she favored my form. She's silent, but her hands slip up to rest not-quite-on-my-shoulders. On my chest, just below. I take a slight risk, and I am rather certain I'll regret it.

  
  


"Of course, I suppose you could still call me professor." I lean in as I say the words, her hair tickling my lips as I speak near her ear. Instead of a gasp, I am rewarded with a slight laugh. Not a giggle, nothing so crass or girlish as that. But a quick, amused laugh. 

  
  


"I suppose I could." There's a small twinkle in her eyes, and I place my hands more firmly on her hips. "Would it be all right if I kissed you, professor?"

  
  


"I believe so."

  
  


What an amazingly enticing situation! She smiles, and presses that sweet smile against my own lips. My hands tighten on her hips slightly, as her lips part marginally. I close the slight distance between our bodies as her hands slip up to clasp my neck tightly. 

  
  


She is warm and soft in my arms. She smells of things I cannot place, but mild and spicy. It's been too long for me, and I lift her in my arms, breaking our kiss just as her tongue seeks entry to my mouth.

  
  


"I think it may be a good time to take things to bed..." I whisper against her hair, and she just nods. I lit her into my arms, rather proud with myself. Perhaps I can be the gallant, after all. I carry her into her bedroom-as organized in it's clutter as her living room-and lay her gently down on her bed.

  
  


"And what is it we're going to be doing here in my bed, professor?"

  
  


She has a teasing tone to her voice that's very innocent. As though she doesn't use it very often. I kiss her, deeply, our tongues sliding together. She is using the term as a joke, now. I find it delightful that we have our own private joke.

  
  


"I'm sure we can think of a few things..." I slide my hand down, untying her robe and drawing it open. I'm pleasantly surprised to find a soft, thin nightdress beneath. It's a pale blue, and I can see her form easily through it. She has grown quite a bit since a rather gawkish girl of thirteen. Her breasts are full if not large, and I can see the dim outline of her turgid nipples through the fabric. Her body is long and lean, her stomach dipped, her hips flared, the joining of her thighs slightly dark and inviting. 

  
  


"I'm sure we can..." Now there's a slight hitch to her voice. Nervous. I don't blame her. She's in bed with a creature that is not human, and was once her teacher. I run my hand over her body, skimming my palm over her breasts and her stomach, trailing over her thighs. She shudders under my touch, and I enjoy it. 

  
  


We make love for what seems like hours. She is sweet and supple beneath my hands and lips, arching and twisting and sighing in the most delightful ways. And afterwards she lays in my arms, satisfied. She tucks her head against my chest.

  
  


"You...you really should stay another night..." She tells me.

  
  


"Really?" I move a bit of her hair out of her face. 

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


It's an interesting offer. I've had many women ask me to stay with them, up until the 'oh, you poor thing' bit. But Hermione is well aware of my lycanthropy. And she has never once uttered those three words. Nor do I think she would. 

  
  


But she is at least twenty years my junior. And she is my former student. Which, on reflection, urges me to consider her offer more seriously. I have taken her to my bed. These facts are actually arguments in favor of staying. I have, in a sense, taken advantage of her. Not horribly, but still the feeling is there. I should at least offer her something more.

  
  


But do I want to settle down?

  
  


"I would very much like to." I tell her. "But...I'm not one for settling down."

  
  


"I'm not certain if I'm asking for all of that. But I...I do like you very much, and not just because of some stupid schoolgirl crush."

  
  


"I know." But what can I tell her? It's true, I can feel those roots itching to sink into the ground. It always happens, I should know this script by heart.

  
  


"A week, at least, and then...well, then you can make up your mind. It isn't as if you have anywhere pressing to be."

"A very valid point." I don't have anywhere to be. I don't even have a rough idea of where I would go next. And what would a week hurt, really? Simply a week...

  
  


"Please?"

  
  


"A week, hmm?" I purse my lips, entranced by her doe-eyes staring up at me from under a waterfall of cinnamon tresses. "I believe I can spare a week."

  
  


"I'm flattered, considering how precious your time is." There is a bit of a bite to her words, which urges me to kiss her again. 

  
  


"As you should be." I mutter, settling back in again. A week. A week, in London, in the arms of a supple young woman with a sharp mind and a quick tongue. I can think of far worse ways to spend a week. And quite possibly more, my mind urges. I can think of far worse mates, far worse indeed. And...perhaps it *is* time I start to seriously consider settling down. I am in my mid forties. I have been dodging this for a very long time, despite the need being there. And she has admitted she isn't certain that's what she wants.

  
  


"Yes, I'll stay." I tell her. "And gladly."

  
  


"Good, then." She closes her eyes, her fingers twining within mine easily. "We should get some sleep..."

  
  


"We should." I agree, kissing the top of her head. She snuggles close, and I smile softly to myself. What an odd place to find myself, really. But a pleasant one. And we shall see what comes of this. 

  
  


But if she ever utters the words "you poor thing", I'm gone.

  
  


~~~~~~~~

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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